


All the Weakness of Mankind

by poisonivory



Series: The Lawyer All the Wickedness [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Gwen (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock is still the Kingpin's right-hand man, even if lately he's finding his way to Foggy's bed more nights than not. But sleeping with an assassin is hardly the way to get a good night's rest, especially with a new vigilante in town and Frank Castle out for blood. Foggy's walking a tightrope these days, and he doesn't have Spider-Woman's balance.</p>
<p>[A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4425287">The Lawyer All the Wickedness</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Weakness of Mankind

**Author's Note:**

> Like "The Lawyer All the Wickedness," this is set in the Spider-Gwen universe. You don't need to read _Spider-Gwen_ (though you should, because it's _great_ ) to follow this, but you should read the first fic or this won't make any sense. If you are reading the comic, it jossed my timeline not long after the first fic was posted, so some details of this no longer jibe with canon (details in the endnotes). Be warned that this is the Gwenverse's Frank and even less of a good dude than he normally is!
> 
> Title, again, comes from the Schopenhauer quote: "The doctor sees all the weakness of mankind; the lawyer all the wickedness; the theologian all the stupidity."
> 
> WARNING: One of the criminals Matt defends in court is an accused (guilty) rapist, though he has no lines and there's no sexual assault in the story.

Matt's gone when Foggy wakes up, which he pretty much expected. In fact, he doesn't see Matt for over a week - not when Karen comes to pick him up from the hospital, not when he spends three days convalescing at home, not when he returns to the office in semi-achey triumph, only to go home three hours later because his side hurts too much to keep sitting up at his desk chair.

On the ninth day, he returns to the hospital to have his stitches removed. The wound in his side is still pink and raw-looking, tender to the touch, but healing.

Kirsten will handle Poindexter's trial solo. Foggy doesn't trust himself around it.

On the ninth night, he is woken out of a fitful sleep by his bedroom window creaking open. It takes a few minutes for his eyes to make out the figure in his bedroom, clad all in black, a mask tied over the upper part of his face.

A mask with no eyeholes.

"...Matt?" he whispers, heart pounding.

There's a pause; then the intruder pulls the mask off to reveal a head of flaming-red hair.

Foggy's heartbeat doesn't slow at all. He'd started to think maybe he'd pushed Matt too far with the job offer, that maybe that night in the hospital was the end of whatever is happening between them. But here Matt is, and this - the black, the mask - this must be what he wears when he does...what he _does_ for Fisk, outside of the courtroom. He’s not pretending to Foggy about this anymore, at least.

Even so, Matt's presence feels tentative and potentially explosive. He won't hurt Foggy - Foggy knows that now, knows it it in his bones - but he's one wrong word away from rolling back out that window and never coming back.

So Foggy scrubs a hand over his face and finds his most matter-of-fact voice as he says, "If you're planning on staying, you'd better take those boots off first. God knows what you’ve been stepping in."

Matt blinks; Foggy can just make it out in the neon glow from outside.

Then he drops the mask on the floor. Bends and removes the right boot, then the left.

Then his shirt.

Then his pants.

When he's totally bare, the lights outside casting deep shadows where they can't reach his pale skin, he gives Foggy one of those dangerous smiles, and finally speaks. "How's this?"

They both know that he knows perfectly well how hard Foggy is right now. "It'll do," Foggy says dryly, and Matt laughs.

When he climbs on top of Foggy he's urgent and fierce, a firebrand wherever his bare skin touches Foggy's. He presses hot kisses to Foggy's neck and jaw, peels away Foggy's worn t-shirt and boxers, and stiffens as his fingers find the knife wound in Foggy's side.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, his fingers tracing up and down the raised line of it. _Hurt_ isn't the right word for it, but Foggy can't stop shivering. The banked rage in Matt's expression makes Foggy actually _relieved_ for Poindexter that he's safe behind bars at the moment.

"Don't get all sentimental on me, Murdock," he says instead of answering, and grabs Matt's ass. The startled look on Matt's face makes Foggy want to laugh and then kiss him at _least_ a thousand times; he settles for pulling Matt's head down to start making a dent in the latter.

There's very little talking after that; just muffled swears from Foggy as Matt unerringly finds the lube and condoms in Foggy's nightstand drawer, as he works himself open and sinks down on Foggy's cock with a look of pure satisfaction. Foggy's hips rock up before he can stop himself, and Matt _growls_ and rides it out, starts moving almost certainly before he's ready. Foggy would happily take it slow, but Matt's impatient, taking what he wants with blunt nails pressed to Foggy's ribs. He's tight and hot and exquisitely beautiful with his head tipped back, and Foggy barely manages to get a hand around Matt's dick before Matt's coming with a hoarse cry. Foggy follows soon after, when Matt deliberately tightens around him like he's making a point.

He's not stupid enough to think Matt will stay the night, but he's at least expecting him to roll off and catch his breath for a minute. But no - Matt stays where he is, chest heaving, head down so Foggy can't quite read his expression.

When Foggy runs a gentle hand up Matt's thigh, Matt lifts his chin and smiles, sharp and cold. "Well," he says, "looks like you're feeling better."

"I'd make a joke about your bedside manner, but I think that's beneath even me," Foggy says.

Matt snorts as he dismounts. Before Foggy can think of a way to ask him to stay - or to sound like he doesn't care if Matt leaves - Matt's off the bed and pulling on his clothes. Foggy shifts, sticky and tired, and watches him.

Matt pulls on the mask and bends over to give Foggy one last bruising kiss, a hand on his throat. He pulls away with a flash of teeth. "See you in court, Mr. Nelson."

And he's gone.

*

He’s dreading the next time he has to face Matt in court, but Matt’s remarkably restrained. He only smirks at the verdict - not guilty - and not every time Foggy speaks, like he used to. He doesn’t even come over for the usual verbal sparring afterwards, just sits there talking to his client.

“I can’t believe that douchebag Murdock’s not over here rubbing our noses in it,” Kirsten mutters as she and Foggy pack up. “Did the two of you bond when that nutjob Poindexter attacked you or something?” She gives him a sidelong glance, and Foggy knows she doesn’t believe the thin story Matt concocted about how they managed not to die in that bathroom. Unfortunately for her, Foggy’s not about to tell her the truth - not yet, anyway.

“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf,” Foggy says, knowing Matt can hear him. “Trying to be less of a huge fucking _dick_.”

Matt’s lips definitely twitch. Foggy doesn’t laugh, because he’s a goddamn _hero_.

“Uh-huh. Is there a reason you’re staring at him?” Kirsten asks. There’s a bit too much of a knowing edge to her voice. Matt’s smile goes wide.

“You brought him up, Kirsten,” Foggy says with great dignity, and snaps his briefcase shut.

*

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , right _there_ ,” Matt hisses, and grinds down as Foggy snaps his hips up.

So this is going to be the routine, apparently, even though there’s nothing routine about it; Matt coming to Foggy in the dead of night and peeling off the black outfit until there’s nothing left but defensive caginess and a body that won’t quit. He pushes Foggy back into the mattress once he’s naked, kisses him until Foggy’s lips are tingling and lets Foggy prep him this time before sinking down, riding him until his thighs have got to be burning but when Foggy suggests he slow down, or move to a position that’ll be easier on him, he snarls and moves _faster_.

Foggy’s not complaining. Foggy’s somewhere between cloud nine and one of the kinkier circles of Hell, watching Matt take all of him, _feeling_ it. There’s a bruise on Matt’s hip and Foggy presses into it by accident when his hand slips. Matt _howls_ and Foggy quickly moves his hand again before realizing that wasn’t a cry of _pain_.

“Matt,” he says thickly, and pushes his thumb into the bruise, and Matt comes all over Foggy’s stomach.

*

“Evening, Mr. District Attorney.”

Foggy startles at the voice above him, and turns to see Spider-Woman crouched on a lamppost. “Spider-Woman. How are you?”

He can’t see her facial expression, but he suspects she’s smiling, from the tone of her voice. “Oh, hanging on by a thread.”

“Heh.”

She swings on a web line to the building behind him and sticks to the wall at head height. “Walk you home?”

Why does everyone with powers want to walk Foggy home? “Sure,” he says, because what the heck, he likes the kid.

She straightens up and keeps pace beside him, hands clasped loosely behind her back. It’s an entirely sober posture - or would be, if she were walking on the ground, and not along the wall, perpendicular to Foggy. “I heard you were injured,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

Foggy’s hand goes to his side before he can stop himself, but honestly, it doesn’t even twinge anymore. “Back in fighting shape. Thanks.”

“I heard Murderdock was there, too.”

And there it is, the unspoken question Foggy really should’ve seen coming. After all, she knows as well as he does - or maybe better - what Matt can do. The story about Poindexter tripping over a confused blind man’s cane won’t fly here.

Of course, “The assassin we’ve both been trying to bring down for months came to my rescue because we’d recently started sleeping together” probably won’t go over well either.

“Poindexter attacked us both,” Foggy says. “Ma-- Murdock took offense.” It’s technically true. “Since he saved my life, I agreed to keep his...abilities under wraps. For now.” _Not_ true, not in so many words, and what would Matt think if he heard it?

Oh God. He’s lying to protect a murderer from a masked woman who can _literally stick to walls_. What has Foggy’s life become?

What has _Foggy_ become?

“You think it’s smart, to owe Murdock a favor?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Foggy points out. “I wasn’t about to stand there and let Poindexter kill me because I don’t like how Murdock makes his money.”

“But you know what he can do,” she argues. “You saw him in action, you can testify...if we can get Felicia Hardy or, or _someone_ to bring a case against him, you could testify against him too! People like you, _juries_ like you, you could take Murdock out of play for good!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know, but it’s _possible!_ I mean, jeez, Mr. Nelson, don’t you want to see that buttmunch behind bars?”

Foggy is...alarmed, to say the least, by how the mental image of Matt in prison grips at his heart. “I’m not saying that I don’t. But if I move too fast, if I push too hard, Murdock’ll run.” More true than she knows. “Or worse, I’ll take him to court and I’ll _lose_ , and we might only get one shot at this. Double jeopardy’s not just bonus points on a game show, you know.”

“But - ”

“I appreciate the concern, Spider-Woman, but I _am_ the district attorney,” he says, cutting her off. “I’ve been doing this for a while, and I don’t need some kid in a mask telling me how to do my job. I’m already putting my neck on the line being chummy with _you_ , after what happened to the Parker boy.”

She falters and stops short, and even through the mask he can sense the shocked hurt. _Shit._

“Listen…” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“No,” she says. She’s already drawing back. “You’re a good man, Mr. Nelson. You’re good for the city - and I love this city, I really do. But you’re probably right. You don’t need my help.” She stretches a hand out and shoots a web line across the street and several stories up. “If I were you, though, I wouldn’t count on Murdock to always feel like saving my neck. Eventually you’re gonna run out of favors to do for him.”

“Spider-Woman…” Foggy tries, but she’s already swinging away, a dwindling point of light bouncing from line to line, until she banks around a building and is gone.

Foggy stares down the empty street towards home. Somehow it seems darker than usual.

“Well, get to it, Nelson,” he mutters, and walks the rest of the way by himself.

*

The next time he sees Matt is in court, which is probably for the best. It’s not even Foggy’s case - Kirsten’s trying this one. Foggy’s just there for moral support.

And for once, Matt doesn’t seem like he’s gloating as he defends his client. That’s _definitely_ for the best. The man sitting next to Matt is an accused rapist, and it’s hard enough to watch Matt dispassionately poke holes in the prosecution’s evidence. Foggy couldn’t stomach Matt actually _enjoying_ himself.

Even with Matt’s face an expressionless mask, Foggy feels sick. Spider-Woman’s warnings keep coming back to Foggy, as much as he’s been trying not to think about last week’s disastrous conversation. It’s not that he’s afraid of what Matt will do to _him_ , not ever. It’s who Matt is, what he’s done in the past, and what he wakes up every morning to do again.

It’s who Foggy’s becoming every time he lets Matt in his bed.

Kirsten loses. It’s not her fault - one of the arresting officers fumbled some of the evidence, and left a hole big enough for Matt to stroll through, client in tow. Foggy squeezes her shoulder as the spectators file out.

“Drinks are on me tonight, and you’ll take a comp day tomorrow for the hangover,” he tells her. “And you can curse a blue streak the second Judge Taylor shuts her chamber door. You’ve earned it.”

“Yeah,” she says, tight-lipped. “I just…”

She sighs and falls silent. There’s nothing more to say.

Across the way, Matt’s client grins big and holds out a hand for Matt to shake. Matt ignores it as he walks out of the courtroom.

He ignores Foggy, too.

*

“Hey, boss? Did you see the news this morning?”

Foggy winces, and it’s only partially because of the headache he’s nursing. True to his promise, he helped Kirsten drink herself into a stupor last night before shepherding her home in a cab, but maybe he shouldn’t have had quite so many himself.

Mostly, though, it’s the caginess in Karen’s voice. She’s about to drop a bombshell, and Foggy has no idea if he’s going to like it.

“Not yet,” he says, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Why, what’s up?”

“You know the defendant from Kirsten’s case yesterday?”

Well, _this_ can’t be good. “Yeah?”

Karen hands him a newspaper, folded over to the article in question, and a cup of coffee. “Someone wasn’t too happy that he got off, I guess.”

Foggy ignores the coffee in favor of the headline, splashed black on the stark white newsprint: _ACQUITTED DEFENDANT FOUND SEVERELY BEATEN ON COURTHOUSE STEPS._

“Shit,” he says before he can catch himself. He takes a few shaky steps over to Karen’s desk, puts the coffee down and leans against the desk so he can concentrate on the article.

_...represented by controversial attorney Matthew Murdock, was acquitted yesterday of all charges of rape and assault…_

_...found by a security guard at 4:53 a.m. Tuesday morning on the steps of the New York City Supreme Court building, apparently beaten unconscious…_

_...now in critical condition at Metro-General Hospital. Police are asking anyone with information on the attack to come forward…_

“People are saying Spider-Woman did it,” Karen says, cutting in on Foggy’s thoughts as he reads the sentences over and over again.

_Spider-Woman_. “That...she wouldn’t…” Foggy starts, then stops. How does he know what Spider-Woman would do? He has no idea who she is under that mask. Hell, she could be one of the women this asshole hurt.

“I ran into Mahoney while I was getting coffee,” Karen says. “Apparently Castle’s on the warpath. Says he’s bringing her in if he has to call in the National Guard to do it.”

“He can’t call in the National Guard,” Foggy says numbly. His mind’s going a hundred directions at once. “He doesn’t have the authority.”

Karen gives him a worried look. “He also said - and this is a direct quote from Mahoney - that he’d make you bring charges against her, and any other damn vigilante in this city, if he had to do it at gunpoint.”

“Well.” Foggy swallows. “That’s. Charming.” He’s not _afraid_ of Castle - Castle’s huge, yes, and seems about thirty seconds away from flipping any table that happens to be in any room he enters, but he’s still a _cop_ , and he’s not _actually_ going to threaten Foggy. That’s just how cops talk. It’s not how _George_ talks, but Foggy’s been around other cops enough in his career to know.

But the mayor likes Castle. The mayor likes Foggy too, but what with the insanity that’s been ravaging the city lately - giant lizards, flying men, and God only knows what else - he’s sure to want law and order restored as quickly and effectively as possible. And Castle _is_ effective.

And if he brings Spider-Woman in…

If he brings Spider-Woman in, Foggy will have to charge her. Will have to haul that poor kid up in front of God and the city and make her answer for her crimes. And they _are_ crimes, technically speaking - assault, unlawful detainment, resisting arrest, reckless endangerment. He doesn’t know how many more.

And the rapist…

There’s a picture in the paper. Foggy doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Spider-Woman’s strong, really strong, and if this is what happens when she doesn’t hold back…

He tries to push down the thought that the rapist deserved every second of it. That’s not for Foggy to decide. That’s not for _Spider-Woman_ to decide.

But how can he put her on trial when he kind of wants to shake her hand for it?

How can he put a kid who only wants to help on trial when he’s fucking a murderer every other night?

“Foggy?” Karen asks. It sounds like it’s not the first time she’s said his name.

He puts down the paper, picks up the coffee, and stands up. “If Castle brings me a criminal, I’ll charge them,” he says. “In the meantime, we’ve got other work to do.”

*

Foggy’s barely in bed that night when he hears the window slide open. His heart thumps painfully in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say to Matt.

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” Matt says, closing the window behind him and slanting a smile Foggy’s way. “How are you tonight?”

Foggy licks his lips. “I thought you were calling me Foggy now.”

“Foggy.” His name on Matt’s tongue makes Foggy’s skin prickle. “Most men wouldn’t be so eager to go by something so silly. Why not Franklin? Or Frank?”

_Frank_ just makes Foggy think of Castle, of Castle’s huge hands around Matt’s pale throat. He pushes himself up into a sitting position. “You’re puckish tonight.”

Matt’s smile widens. He’s already out of his boots and pulling his pants off. The mask is still on. “I’m anticipating.”

Foggy has to look away from...from all of it, the white of Matt’s smile and his lean, rangy thighs, and the danger in his frame. “Yeah.”

Matt stops. “What is it?”

“Congrats on your win yesterday.” It comes out more bitter than he intended.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Matt pause, then pull his pants back up. He doesn’t zip them, though. “Now, why don’t I think you meant that?” he asks, but it’s not teasing. It’s...flat.

“This...I can’t do this. I _shouldn’t_ do this,” Foggy says, gesturing a little pathetically to the bed.

“I’ll leave any time you want, Mr. Nelson,” Matt says. So they’re back to that. “Just tell me to go.”

And it would be that easy. One word, and Matt would be out the window for good, and Foggy could chalk all this up to a sordid - and hopefully quickly excised - chapter in his autobiography. One word, and he can start getting his personal and professional ethics back on track. One word, and he can spend his time at the office concentrating on his actual _work_ , on taking down Fisk, instead of going hot and flushed whenever he’s ambushed by the memories of Matt’s hands on his body.

He can’t get it out.

“I offered you a job, once,” he says instead.

“I like my job.”

“You didn’t seem to like it yesterday.”

Matt rolls his shoulders, a shrug. “Do _you_ love everything you do at work? Or everyone you have to work with?”

Foggy thinks of Castle. _No, I guess not_ , he means to say, but what comes out instead is, “Why are you here?”

“What, you couldn’t figure that out?” Matt lounges against the dresser, arms folded, smile bright and sardonic in the darkness. “I’m crazy about your dick.”

At least Foggy’s too upset to blush. “Matt…”

“What do you want me to say?” Matt asks, cutting him off. “Are you having an ethical quandary about this? _Now?_ Do you want me to say something pretty that’s gonna make it all better? I can, you know.” He straightens up with a faint smile. “I took Professor Levi’s Intro to Philosophy class at our old alma mater just like you did - though Levi _did_ call my final paper disturbingly nihilistic. I can justify anything you want me to justify.” The smile fades. “The question is, what difference does it make? It’s not like anyone’s changing sides here.”

They weren’t in the same philosophy lecture. Foggy’s not sure if Matt somehow _remembers_ Foggy taking that class in a different semester, or if he’s just been doing research. He’s not sure which would be worse.

It’s beside the point, anyway. “You’re a - killer,” Foggy says, stumbling over the word “murderer.” “You’ve killed for Fisk. And you’ve put other killers back on the streets for him.”

“You knew all this before tonight.” Matt sounds...tired, suddenly.

“You didn’t kill Poindexter, though,” Foggy says, and watches how Matt goes still. “Because I asked you not to.”

Matt doesn’t say anything.

“Why are you here, Matt?” Foggy asks again.

Matt zips up his pants, picks up his boots, and heads towards the window. “Like I said before, I can go. Any time you want me to - ”

“Stay,” Foggy interrupts.

Matt stands there for a long moment, hand on the window frame, and Foggy waits.

Finally Matt puts down his boots and pulls off his mask. “All right.”

He stays until sunrise this time.

*

It takes Foggy eight days of waiting on the roof during lunchtime with a spare order of Shake Shack for her to show up. Which he figures is actually probably pretty apropos, for a spider.

Even though he’s waiting for her, he startles when she lands silently on the roof behind him and then speaks: “Waiting for anything in particular, or just taking in the fresh air?”

“I know I said I’d light up a spider-signal, but I can’t quite get the boys in the police lab to go for it,” he says. Turning around, he holds out a paper bag. “Shackburger?”

She pauses, then sighs and comes over to sit cross-legged next to him, knees akimbo. “I thought you said you didn’t need my help,” she says, pulling her mask up to expose her mouth before taking the bag from him.

“I was being a jackass. I’m sorry.”

She takes a bite of her burger, chews and swallows before raising one shoulder in a shrug. “S’okay.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Foggy’s finished his burger, but he picks slowly at his fries, mostly for something to do. There’s a hawk, one of the rare ones that nest in Manhattan’s skyscrapers, wheeling through the sky in the distance.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks finally.

She tilts her head at him. “What? Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, things are…” Her shoulders slump a little. “Things are...complicated, but when aren’t they?” She pushes her lower lip up, a suspicious moue. “Why?”

Foggy shifts to free the thin stack of newspaper pages he’s been sitting on to keep them from blowing away and holds them so that she can see the headlines: 

_ACCUSED MURDERER FOUND BADLY BEATEN OUTSIDE POLICE HQ_

_ESCAPED FELON BEATEN INTO COMA_

_THIRD VICTIM OF HYPER-VIOLENT VIGILANTE FOUND THIS WEEK_

_POLICE CONSIDERING SPIDER-WOMAN SUSPECT IN BEATINGS_

_HAS SPIDER-WOMAN GONE TOO FAR?_

“That wasn’t me.” Spider-Woman drops the paper bag on the roof and starts to scramble up. “That wasn’t _me_ , I didn’t do those things, I would _never_ do that! Jameson _hates_ me, he’s on a witchhunt, I would never - ”

“I know. I know!” Foggy interrupts, and puts a hand on her arm. Not firm enough to hold her in place - not that he _could_. Just to steady her. “I’m not accusing you, I promise.”

She stays half-crouched for a moment before settling again, but her body language is still wary. “You’re not?”

He taps the photo on the topmost page. “The victims who weren’t beaten too badly to move were tied with rope. Everyone you’ve been known to deliver to the police has been webbed up, and none of them have been this badly hurt.” He pauses. “I’ll be honest: when I saw the first story, I thought it _was_ you. But...it doesn’t seem like your style.” And her half-terrified, half-offended denial erased the last tiny doubt haunting the back of his mind, but he’s not going to say that out loud.

“...Thank you,” she says. It’s barely a whisper, and he’s extra-glad he didn’t voice that last thought.

Then she clears her throat and says in a more normal tone, “So why did you bring these up here and wait for me? Want me to help you put together a scrapbook? Because honestly, Mr. Nelson, that’s kind of sexist.”

He snorts. “No. I wanted to know if you knew who it was. New player? Old villain? Don’t you guys have a clubhouse or something?”

“I _wish_. Maybe then I could talk to someone who knew what they were doing without having to jump universes,” she says.

“What?”

“Never mind.” She pops the last of her burger into her mouth and stretches her legs out in front of her. “Really, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself, but whoever they are, they’re good at staying out of sight. Captain America’s not that kind of angry, and...”

“And what?” he presses.

“Well, that douchenozzle cop Castle _is_ that kind of angry, but I don’t think he’d be keeping it a secret if it was him.”

Foggy frowns. _Could_ it be Castle? Spider-Woman’s right, skulking doesn’t seem to be his M.O. - but beating the shit out of criminals certainly is. “So that’s a no on the vigilante clubhouse. Not even a message board or something?”

“Sorry, Mr. Nelson.” She shrugs again. “Whoever it is, I think it’s someone new.”

“Great,” Foggy says with a sigh, and reaches for his half-melted shake. “Just what I need.”

*

There’s a witness to one of the attacks. The police get a statement:

“Yeah, he came swooping in out of nowhere, like, _bam!_ And just, like, fucked this guy’s shit up. Just fucked his shit right the fuck up! All red and twisty and shit. Like. Shit, man.”

A photo, snapped by some kid on their phone and sent to Ben Urich at the Bugle, since he’s been providing most of the coverage of the story so far: grainy, distant, blurred by motion, a lean figure in red or maybe brown, soaring in a graceful arc above his opponent’s head, the curve of his spine a symphony.

Another witness, interviewed live on NY1:

“I didn’t get a good look, but he was really cute. Like, _really_ cute. Skintight red...I don’t know, spandex but way cooler? And that _ass_ , my God.”

“And he saved your life.”

“Oh yeah, that too. But that _ass_.”

Foggy’s no detective, but he’s not _totally_ unobservant. That’s not Spider-Woman in the red, and it’s not Castle, either.

He’s just not sure why it would be the person he’s becoming increasingly positive it is.

*

Foggy jumps as the front door to his office suite slams open. “Where is he?!”

“Captain Castle?” That’s Karen, sounding terrified. No, fuck that, Karen is not going to be terrified on _his_ watch. Foggy scrambles to get out from behind his desk.

“If he thinks he can just jerk me around like that idiot Stacy…”

“Captain Castle!” Okay, now Karen sounds mad _too_ , which is pretty great. “If you want to make an appointment to see Mr. Nelson, you’ll have to speak with me first.”

“Listen, Blondie, he’ll see me if I have to - ”

Foggy yanks his office door open. Castle’s levering a huge finger in Karen’s face and she looks about pissed enough to bite it off. Kirsten’s halfway out of her own office, phone in hand. “Captain Castle,” Foggy says. “If you continue to berate my assistant for doing her job, I’ll have to speak with the commissioner about your behavior.”

Castle whirls on him. “Yeah? Maybe then _you_ can explain to the commissioner why you haven’t done a goddamn thing about these nutjob vigilantes running around the city?”

“I thought arresting criminals was _your_ responsibility, Captain Castle. Isn’t that why you’re heading up the anti-Spider-Woman taskforce?” Foggy says, because apparently he’s tired of living.

“Believe me, I will.” Castle storms over in his direction. Foggy’s pretty sure he’s just _imagining_ the floor shaking. “But that’s not gonna do me any damn good if you don’t _charge_ the assholes.”

“When did I say I wasn’t going to?” Foggy asks.

“When did you say you _were?_ ” Castle retorts. “Where’s the statement to the press? Where’s the leaning on witnesses? Or are you one of those delusional idiots who thinks these people are _heroes?_ ”

He leans in. He’s...he’s huge, really, like three Foggies stacked together, and the fury inside him is barely contained. He doesn’t belong here, in Foggy’s tidy office with its government-issue furniture; he belongs hacking his way through underbrush with a machete, or shooting harpoons at icebergs or something. Somewhere that’ll burn off the rage more safely than a heavily populated city.

“They’re _not_ heroes, Nelson,” he growls. “They’re criminals, dangerous ones, and the safest place for them is six feet under.”

Foggy stands his ground. Somehow. “Don’t you mean in jail?”

“Not everyone gets your fairy tale of rehabilitation,” Frank says, and Foggy’s spine turns to water. It’s too much like what Matt said to him once, and suddenly he sees Matt staring down the barrel of Castle’s gun. He sees _Spider-Woman_ staring down it. Christ, she’s only a _kid_.

He takes a deep breath. “Bring me a criminal, and I will charge them,” he says. “That includes any cop using excessive force, by the way. I don’t care what his rank is.”

Castle clenches a huge fist. “Don’t fuck with me, Nelson. You won’t win.”

“And here I thought we were supposed to be on the same side,” Foggy says.

Castle glowers at him for a moment longer, then turns and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him so hard Foggy’s surprised the glass in it doesn’t break.

He makes his way to Karen’s desk and sits on the edge of it, suddenly shaky. “Jesus.”

Kirsten and Karen look as unsteady as he feels. “That guy’s gonna be waiting for you in a dark alley someday, Foggy,” Kirsten says.

“Who, Castle?” he says. “Nah, he’d do it in broad daylight.”

“I’m serious.” She shakes her head. “Watch out for him, okay? I’ve visited you in the hospital enough times this year.”

“Really, Kirsten, nothing’s going to happen to me,” Foggy assures her, and does his best not to think about the scar on his side. “Castle talks a lot of shit, but he’s still a cop. He’s not going to come after me just because I ruffled his feathers.”

“If you say so,” she says, but neither she nor Karen looks at all convinced.

To tell the truth, Foggy’s not convinced either.

*

If Foggy manages to wake up before Matt, he inevitably finds him one of two ways: curled up into a tiny ball that belies his long limbs and broad shoulders, or twisted around Foggy like a vine. There's zero chance of extricating himself from Vine Matt without waking him; as soon as Foggy stirs Matt snaps awake, unseeing eyes wide for a heartbeat before they shutter. He's dressed and out the window two minutes and one cutting remark later.

But sometimes.

Sometimes, if Foggy can slip out of bed while Matt's still curled around all his secrets, if he can get a pot of coffee far along enough that the scent is too tempting to ignore, Matt will join him for a cup. He's sleepy-eyed and tousle-headed those mornings, pale hands curved around the World’s Best Boss mug Karen got Foggy as a gag gift last Christmas. It's these moments, more than Matt naked and panting, or the sharp smile that slices Foggy right down to the bone, that remind Foggy why he's made the succession of terrible decisions that led to this point.

It’s one of those mornings, soon after the day Castle stormed into his office, that Foggy decides to bring up something he’s been wondering about. Not the bruise high on Matt’s cheekbone or how long he thinks he can keep living three or four lives; no, mentioning those will have Matt out the door in a heartbeat.

But even where less critical matters are concerned, Matt still lives in the shadow of innuendo, of murkiness and plausibly deniability. Foggy can imply and obfuscate with the best of them - he’s a lawyer too, after all - but he’s found that the best way of startling Matt is to say something right out. And he likes startling Matt.

“So do you ever top or what?” he asks as Matt takes a sip of coffee.

Matt chokes and splutters, turning red as he gropes for a napkin. Foggy bites back a smile.

He _really_ likes startling Matt.

“What?” Matt finally manages, blinking uselessly.

Foggy shrugs. “Just wondering if you’re ever going to ask to fuck me.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open. Foggy wants to kiss it, but instead he gets up and heads for the bedroom. “I should get dressed. Don’t want to be late for work.”

Neither of them mention it again, but Foggy thinks about the bright spots of color on Matt’s cheekbones all day. He doesn’t turn out the light when he gets into bed that night but stays up reading. Waiting.

Matt’s later than usual. Normally that means he’s had… _business_ to attend to, in one guise or another, but he doesn’t look like he’s been in a fight when he tugs the mask off.

Foggy puts a bookmark in his book and sets it aside. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Matt strips them both naked once he’s in bed, under the covers because it’s cold tonight, even if Matt’s hands are hot. He’s usually rushed and rough but tonight he seems to just want to _taste_ Foggy, mouth all over Foggy’s face and neck and shoulders, and Foggy’s almost sure he’s not going to ask when Matt finally brings that mouth to the curve of Foggy’s ear and whispers: “Can I?”

Foggy knows Matt can hear his heart rate tick up, but all he says is, “Well, I wouldn’t have brought it up if you _couldn’t_ ,” in his most long-suffering voice.

He doesn’t know how to describe the look on Matt’s face.

He expects to get ridden hard and put away wet, but Matt’s more gentle than Foggy’s ever known him to be. He didn’t think Matt had this kind of gentleness _in_ him. It’s probably for the best, really, because Foggy gasps at the stretch of just one finger in him, and is breathless by three. It’s been a long time. And this is _Matt_.

“Come on, buddy, get the lead out,” he manages, and Matt scowls.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and as petulant as he is, it’s honest to God the nicest thing he’s ever said to Foggy. Which is yet another reason this is all a terrible idea, but Foggy’s so hard he aches, stretched wide and ready, and he’s not about to stop now.

Once he’s put the condom on, Matt finally sinks into Foggy with a look on his face like it hurts _him_. It’s not hurting Foggy, not one bit - Matt was so careful, and even if he’d rushed...well, Foggy’s pretty sure he’d put up with more hurt than he ever has before for Matt. But no, he just feels full, and hot, and _good_ , and he gathers Matt up and kisses the closest part of his face, which turns out to be Matt’s chin, and murmurs, “C’mon, Matt, _do_ it.”

“ _Foggy_ ,” Matt breathes. He tucks his face into the curve of Foggy’s neck and skates a trembling hand up Foggy’s flank, thrusting shallowly. Foggy makes an annoyed sound and rocks his hips _up_ , and Matt gasps, hips juddering forward before he can stop himself.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Foggy says, and hooks a leg around Matt’s waist to dig his heel into the small of Matt’s back. “Like _that_.”

Matt pulls back far enough that Foggy can see the surprised look on his face, and Foggy can’t help his breathless laugh. “Come on, Matt, if I wanted tender lovemaking in a field of wildflowers I wouldn’t be fucking _you_.”

Matt snorts, and it’s fantastically unattractive, and Foggy adores him for it. “All right, I get it. You make a compelling case, counsellor,” and then he’s hitching Foggy’s thighs around his waist for a better angle, and then he starts _moving_ , and Foggy twines his arms around Matt’s neck and hangs on for the ride. It’s not as hard as Matt always demands from Foggy, but it’s deep and it’s steady and Foggy knows he’s gonna feel it in the morning. He _wants_ to feel it in the morning.

It’s the only thing of Matt he knows for sure he can keep after sunrise.

“Matt, _Matt_ ,” he pants, rocking up to meet Matt’s thrusts. Matt groans, teeth scraping against Foggy’s jaw, and all thoughts of making this last go flying out of Foggy’s head.

When he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself, though, Matt _growls_ and bats his hand away. “No,” he says, and replaces Foggy’s hand with his own, callused and hot. “ _I_ make you come.”

Foggy shudders and arches up into Matt’s touch. “Y-yeah,” he says as Matt’s hand tightens around him. “Yeah, sounds good.”

He doesn’t last long after that, not with Matt stroking him with the same rhythm he’s fucking into him with, not with his name a low rumble in Matt’s throat. Matt starts to pull away after Foggy’s come, and Foggy tightens his legs around him, holding him in place. “Don’t...don’t you dare,” he says, breathless. “After you made me wait that long? Finish what you fucking started, Murdock.”

Matt blinks, then gives him a hot, bruising kiss. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, and Foggy only has a second to worry about the fact that it doesn’t sound like a joke before Matt’s hips are moving again. It’s so much, almost too much now that Foggy’s post-orgasmic and oversensitive, and he gasps and clings to Matt until he feels Matt shudder and twitch and come inside him.

Matt’s head drops to Foggy’s shoulder. He’s making little getting-comfy shifts, and Foggy wouldn’t be opposed, except that he feels disgusting right now. He pokes Matt in the ribs. “Wet naps are in the nightstand. As you well know.”

Matt makes a long suffering sigh and pulls out to reach for them. Foggy puts his hands behind his head and watches Matt tie off the condom and clean them both up. “Aren’t you going to help?” Matt asks, eyebrow raised.

“Nope,” Foggy says cheerfully.

Matt grumbles but finishes the job. He starts to sit up, and Foggy grabs his forearm and tugs him back down. Matt tenses, then visibly relaxes and lets Foggy pull him to the mattress and roll into him, one thigh thrown over Matt’s legs.

“I’m not staying,” Matt says.

“Okay,” Foggy says, and lets his hand curve over Matt’s ribs. He can feel every breath; he imagines he can feel Matt’s heart, too.

“This isn’t _cuddling_ ,” Matt adds.

“Clearly not,” Foggy agrees.

He closes his eyes. A minute later he feels Matt’s hand over his.

But Matt’s gone before Foggy wakes up.

*

A week later finds Foggy drinking his morning coffee alone, staring at a front-page article - or, really, the photo accompanying it, the first really good picture they’ve gotten of the vigilante the press has started calling “Daredevil.”

He’s in mid-fight, punching out a slumlord who set one of his own buildings on fire for the insurance money and killed seven tenants, including three children, in the blaze. At least, that’s what Foggy charged the slumlord with, but he works for Fisk. Matt got him acquitted, just two days ago.

Daredevil’s mask covers most of his face, and what little can be seen is twisted in rage, but Foggy knows it. Foggy’s _kissed_ that face.

Why is Matt _doing_ this?

Even as Foggy wonders it, he knows he’s making a mistake. Trying to navigate the treacherous swamp that is Matt Murdock’s mind is asking for a headache; trying to untangle what passes for Matt’s ethics will drive him to drink before nine a.m.

But how long can he keep doing this and not questioning it? Not questioning _himself?_

Matt is a killer Foggy doesn’t know _how_ many times over, and he’s put more additional killers than Foggy wants to count back on the streets. And now...even if he’s attacking criminals, it’s still vigilantism. Frank Castle may be a jackass, but he’s right that it’s Foggy’s job to prosecute vigilantes. It’s one thing to let Spider-Woman slide - she’s never approached Matt’s level of violence, and she’s never committed any crimes that Foggy knows of _outside_ of said vigilantism. And she’s just a kid.

But Matt...Matt has no excuse. Matt’s done nothing to mitigate his criminal activities, nothing that should make the eye of the law look kindly on him.

Except make Foggy fall in love with him.

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? The problem isn’t Castle, not really, or Matt, or even Fisk. The problem is that someday Foggy’s going to have to prosecute the man he loves, and not doing it to the best of his ability will kill him.

_Doing_ it to the best of his ability will kill him.

He wants to believe that Matt’s new hobby of attacking criminals is inspired by his better angels, but if that were the case, why won’t Matt just take Foggy up on his offer of a job? Foggy knows it’s not that simple - Matt can’t just say he’s very sorry and escape all punishment for his past crimes - but Matt’s the best lawyer this city has, and smart enough to negotiate a good deal for himself in exchange for all the dirt on Fisk’s organization that he could potentially hand over to the city.

Of course, that’ll leave him open to whatever revenge Fisk chooses to take. Because if this doesn’t end with Foggy prosecuting Matt, it’ll end with Foggy burying him. Whether it’s Castle or Fisk or just a lucky bullet from the next person his demons drive him to fight, Matt’s not living the kind of life that goes on very long.

Foggy takes a sip of the coffee he’s abandoned in favor of staring at the picture of Daredevil, and winces when he realizes it’s gone cold and unappealing. He forces himself to leave the paper on the table as he stands and pours the coffee down the sink. There’s no time to make another pot - he’ll be late enough for work as it is. He’ll have to rush.

It’s for the best, really, he thinks as he scrambles through a hasty shower. Maybe if he keeps moving fast enough, he won’t have to think about how this is inevitably going to end.

*

Foggy and Kirsten are down at the precinct a few days later, talking to Ben Grimm about a case, when Mahoney comes running in.

“Hey! Grimm! Daredevil’s been spotted taking on the Russians down by the docks. Castle wants everyone on duty down there ASAP. He’s bringing the SWAT gear.”

Foggy’s blood turns to ice water. He’s not worried about Matt against a handful of Russian mobsters, but a fleet of NYPD, with Frank Castle howling for blood at the head of it?

“Sorry, Nelson, I gotta go,” Grimm says, heading for the door.

Foggy’s grabbing his arm before he thinks about it. As dented and craggy as Grimm looks, that bicep’s like a slab of granite. “Fine, but I’m riding with you.”

“What?” Kirsten says, staring at Foggy. “Uh, that is, we both are.”

Grimm scowls at them. “All right, but you two stay out of the way when we get there, and keep your heads down. I don’t want Stacy up my ass because I let the whole D.A.’s office get shot on my watch.”

They practically have to run to keep up with him - for someone so solid, Grimm can _move_ when he wants - but soon they’re in the backseat of a squad car, slamming up against each other every time Grimm squeals around a curve. Kirsten snags Foggy’s sleeve and speaks in as low a voice as she can manage and still be heard over the screeching tires and radio chatter.

“Okay, boss-man, what’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Foggy says, too quickly and just as quietly.

Kirsten snorts. “Yeah, right. You look scared shitless.”

“Hey, you talk like a cop, McDuffie,” Grimm says approvingly from the driver’s seat. Okay, so maybe they’re not talking that quietly. It’s a reminder - he could maybe, just possibly, confess all his suspicions and woes and fears to Kirsten, but not in front of New York’s Finest.

“I just don’t want innocent people getting hurt because of Castle’s asinine dick-measuring contest,” Foggy says, which is true, even if it doesn’t really encompass his terror for the wholly un-innocent Matt. Kirsten’s still looking at him suspiciously, so he averts his eyes and concentrates on watching the streets fly by through the window, washed red and blue by the lights of the squad cars around them bouncing off the glass.

They screech to a halt at the docks. “Stay here,” Grimm orders, but he doesn’t bother to lock the doors, and he’s out of the car and away so fast Foggy doesn’t hesitate in getting out himself.

“Foggy!” Kirsten says, sounding exasperated, but follows.

There’s a police cordon set up already, squad cars parked willy-nilly and blocking every possible escape route, officers milling everywhere. Castle’s in the thick of it, SWATted up, barking orders at everyone around him.

“I don’t give a shit if you’ve got the Russians in custody!” he bellows at the unlucky bastard who’s reporting in to him. “I want the asshole in red!” He turns around and sees Grimm - though luckily he appears to miss Foggy and Kirsten. “Grimm! Get down on York. We’ve got him bottled up in one of these warehouses, but he might try to make a run for it that way. And I’m gonna nail this asshole tonight or I’ll have all your fucking badges.”

“Sir, yes _sir_ ,” Grimm drawls after Castle turns around - too low for Castle to hear, but not too low for Foggy as Grimm doubles back past him. “Can’t have _two_ psychopaths running around this city beating the crap out of lowlifes, now can we?”

And Foggy loses his mind for a minute, and follows him.

He just can’t - he can’t stay there, he can’t just _stand_ there, cowering behind a cop car and waiting for Matt to go down in a hail of bullets. If Matt’s still there - if he _does_ try to escape on York Avenue, maybe Foggy can warn him, maybe Foggy can _help_ him. And if not, if he goes out a different way, or if he stays inside until Castle sends a squad in after him with battering rams and automatics…

Well, at least Foggy won’t have to watch.

York’s dark and quiet compared to the main hub of police activity. Foggy trails ten yards or so behind Grimm, who glances back to see Foggy following, snorts, and ignores him. Kirsten’s heels click on the asphalt behind them.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Foggy?” she hisses in his ear. “We’re gonna get _shot_ , we’re gonna get taken hostage by some lunatic who dresses like the freaking _devil_ …”

“He won’t hurt us,” Foggy says automatically, distractedly.

“What?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Grimm snaps, pistol unholstered and held pointing cautiously downwards. “You hear that?”

Foggy freezes. He can’t hear anything over the river, the distant wailing of sirens, the muffled bark of Castle’s voice…

No. A scuffling noise, on the roof, almost like - 

“There!” Grimm shouts as a graceful figure in red leaps over their heads. He turns to follow it, raising his gun to take aim.

“NO!” Foggy shouts, lunging for Grimm and yanking back on that heavy arm. Grimm stumbles back into him, swearing, but - thank God, thank _God_ \- doesn’t fire. Daredevil seems to turn his head in their direction as he leaps to the next roof, and then he’s over the next one, ducking behind a water tower, and he’s gone.

“Nelson, what the _fuck?_ ” Grimm demands, shoving Foggy off of him even as Kirsten comes running up to them. “What the hell was that? I could have shot you!”

“Foggy, what were you thinking?” Kirsten asks, sounding just as furious - just as _scared_. “Why would you - oh my God.” Recognition dawns on her face. Foggy feels sick. “You know who he is.”

Shit. “I...what? I don’t…”

But Kirsten is anything but stupid. “Yes you do, you _know_ who he _is_ , what the _hell_ , Foggy? All this time! He’s been running around doing God knows what and you’ve been - ”

“Covering for him.”

Kirsten and even Grimm go pale. Castle is standing behind them, huge and menacing, backlit by the shifting splash of police lights bouncing off the bricks. “I knew it,” he says, and his voice feels like the sky does before a bad storm, yellow and heavy and vibrating with oncoming thunder. “I knew you weren’t just the weasely little pencil pusher you pretended to be. No one’s _that_ incompetent.”

“Castle,” Foggy starts. Stops. Takes a breath. “I don’t know who Daredevil is.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Castle snarls, taking a step forward. “You’ve been lying since day one. You’ve been covering his tracks, covering for him and that spider bitch while they run roughshod all over this city. You’re a goddamn vigilante sympathizer!”

His volume is increasing with every word. “Captain…” Grimm says warningly, cautiously, and Foggy notices that his gun is still unholstered.

“I saw you running after Grimm and I knew. I _knew_ ,” Castle says. “And sure enough, you let him get away. Forty cops here and I could have had a bullet through his fucking skull, but one fat little government bureaucrat lets the most dangerous criminal in the city _get away_.”

And just like that, Foggy sees red. He knew Castle had no intention of taking Matt alive, but it’s another thing entirely to hear him rant about not getting the opportunity to gun Matt down in cold blood. “Most dangerous criminal in the city?” he repeats. “Don’t sell yourself short, Castle. You’re still right here.”

Despite everything, Foggy still wasn’t expecting Castle to actually attack him.

He lets out a bestial roar as he charges, huge hands closing around Foggy’s throat. Kirsten screams, and Grimm brings his weapon up. “Hey! Castle! Back off, let him go, I swear to God…”

Castle drops Foggy on his ass to backhand Grimm across the face, sending him and the gun flying in opposite directions. Foggy scrambles to his feet, terror hammering in his chest. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get Kirsten to safety, shit, what if Castle kills Grimm…

“You mother _fucker!_ ” Castle snarls, and grabs Foggy by the throat again, slamming him against the nearest building. Foggy’s head cracks against the brick and he sees stars. “You thought you could pull this shit under my nose? You thought you could let vigilantes get away with doing whatever the fuck they wanted in this city? You’re as bad as they are!”

Foggy scrabbles at his hands, vision darkening as his air cuts off. He can see Grimm hauling on Castle’s shoulders, trying to drag him off of Foggy; he can hear Kirsten screaming for help.

And then his vision tunnels and all he sees is Castle’s furious face, mottled with rage, and all he can think is that at least Matt’s secret dies with him…

“ _Get off of him!_ ”

Something yanks Castle back _hard_ , sending him flying across the street. Foggy hits the pavement, gasping for air. His throat feels swollen, compressed, like Castle’s hands are still crushing it shut.

But Matt’s here. Matt _must_ be here, Matt saved him, everything’s okay because Matt’s going to stop Castle and - 

A bright coiled figure in white leaps at Castle, bowling him over.

It’s not Matt.

“Spider-Woman!” Castle spits, lurching to his feet. “Fine, I’ll take you down, then. You or Daredevil, it’s all the same to me.”

“I’m not going to let you hurt innocent people, Castle,” she says, putting herself between Castle and the others.

“Innocent! What the fuck do _you_ know about innocent?” he demands, and charges in again. He doesn’t draw his gun, maybe because the quarters are too close, or just because he wants to kill with his bare hands. Either way, he gets a faceful of web for his efforts.

“GRAGH!” he shouts, clawing at it. Spider-Woman charges him and he reaches out blindly, snags her hood and _yanks_. She goes down hard.

“Spider-Woman!” Foggy tries to shout, but his voice isn’t working and it comes out a whisper. Kirsten’s there, now, helping him to stand, and Grimm’s between them and the fight, weapon drawn, but it’s moving too fast for him to take a shot. Spider-Woman’s up again, leaping all over the dark and furious whirlwind that is Castle, webbing an arm or leg into place only to have him erupt free from it again.

“I’ll kill you!” he bellows, swinging a meaty paw at her.

She flips nimbly over it. “Have to catch me first, you disgrace to the NYPD! And I don’t think _that’s_ happening anytime soo-- _oof!_ ”

He catches her on the backswing and hurls her to the ground. Before she can scramble to her feet, he’s got a hand on her throat, hauling her into the air. “First you,” he says, “then that dirty excuse for a district attorney over there, and then Daredevil. You scum are going to learn that you can’t just get away with whatever you - ”

_Crack!_

Castle screams as Grimm’s bullet rips into his thigh. He falters, and Spider-Woman scrambles up, kicking him in the face even as she pries her neck out of his grip and backflips away. Castle goes for his gun for the first time, but Spider-Woman’s faster, webbing his hand to his holster before he can draw.

“The only one who’s not getting away with anything is _you!_ ” she says, and clocks him across the chin. He goes down like a sack of bricks.

Spider-Woman prods him with her toe, but he doesn’t move. “He’s out,” she says, and turns to face the others. “Are you all okay? I heard the sirens and I...jeez. Everyone’s okay, though, right?”

Grimm stares at Castle’s unconscious form. “I just shot the captain.” His gaze switches to Spider-Woman. “For _you_.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks?” she says, as he shakes his head disbelievingly. “Mr. Nelson? Are you all right?”

“I…” Foggy realizes as he tries to speak that his throat still really, _really_ hurts, and also everything’s still pretty swimmy. “I think I’m going to pass out now, okay, Kirsten?”

“Uh. Sure, boss,” she says, and he topples over into her arms.

*

It’s a quicker hospital stay than that time he was stabbed, so _that’s_ something, at least.

They release Foggy a couple hours after he wakes up. He’s got a light concussion from Castle hitting his head against the wall and some bruising around his throat, but that’s it. Kirsten takes him home, lecturing him the whole way about how she’s getting _really really sick_ of ferrying him away from the hospital. He can’t disagree.

Foggy takes a long, hot shower after she leaves, and is just settling in with a cup of tea when the doorbell rings. Before he can open it, though, he hears the lock click. The door opens and there’s Matt - in a normal gray suit and holding his cane, because it’s morning now, broad daylight, but looking as frazzled and disheveled as Foggy’s ever seen him. He’s not even wearing his glasses.

It’s the first time he’s ever come to Foggy’s door as himself. Hell, it’s the first time he’s ever come to Foggy’s _door_.

“You picked the lock?” Foggy asks. His voice comes out raspy.

“I had to see you,” Matt says, completely unapologetically and completely without irony. He closes the door behind him, drops his cane on the floor, and then he’s in Foggy’s space, hands on Foggy’s throat like he can _feel_ how bad the bruising is. Hell, maybe he can. “Are you all right?”

Better, now, with Matt touching him. Better now that they’re both safe. “Yeah. Just bruised. I’ll be fine.” Matt looks unconvinced. “Hey,” Foggy says, and kisses him.

Matt leans into it, but Foggy can feel him trembling. “What happened?” Matt asks. “Also, why are you up? You should be in bed.” It’s an order, barked like Foggy’s one of the underlings on Fisk’s payroll, and Foggy can’t help but smile.

“I was on my way to the couch with tea when _someone_ rang my doorbell,” he points out.

Matt’s face does something Foggy can’t define, and then he all but _drags_ Foggy to the couch, pushes the tea into his hands, and sits down next to him. “What happened?” he asks again.

“I was in the precinct last night when we got word that Daredevil had been spotted by the docks,” Foggy says carefully. Matt’s face goes totally blank - not that Foggy needed the confirmation. “Castle was on the warpath and I was worried that he would kill Daredevil, so I rode along with Ben Grimm.”

“Why would you care if Daredevil got killed?” Matt asks. His posture is very straight.

“Matt. Come on. Give me _some_ credit,” Foggy says. “The only thing I _don’t_ know is _why_ you’re doing it.”

And - yeah, Matt’s face crumples at that, just a bit. “How long have you known?” he asks, and for once the imperious tone is gone from his voice.

Foggy shrugs. “Pretty much since the beginning, I think.” He risks putting a hand on Matt’s knee, even though Matt looks a bit like he wants to hurl himself out the window. “Matt...why? What are you trying to accomplish?”

Matt scowls. “I’m not...I’m not trying to _accomplish_ anything. This isn’t about any nonsense like the greater good. I just...there are people out there who...who shouldn’t be.”

“ _You_ put them out there,” Foggy says, very gently.

“It’s my _job_.” Matt’s throat works once, twice. “I knew you were there,” he says. “At the docks. I...I _smelled_ you, I heard your heart, and when I ran I heard you stop Grimm from shooting me. But I didn’t...I was moving so fast, I didn’t hear about what happened after I left until you were already in the hospital.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt.”

“What _happened_.” It’s not a question anymore. Matt’s hands are balled into fists on his lap, his knuckles white.

Foggy sighs. “Kirsten realized I knew who you were. Castle overheard and...was displeased. Then Spider-Woman showed up and took him down. That’s it.”

“He.” Matt’s face is very dangerous, and Foggy doesn’t know yet who the storm’s going to come down on. “He attacked you because you were protecting me. I don’t…” He stands up. “I’ll kill him.”

“Matt.”

“I’ll snap his fucking neck, I don’t care.”

“He’s in jail, Matt. Internal Affairs will...”

“What, does he think being behind bars will keep him safe from me? Does he know how many people in that jail I _own?_ I’m gonna make him _crawl_ , I’m gonna…”

“Matt!” Foggy raises his voice even though it hurts, and grabs Matt’s arm. “ _Please_ stop detailing your murderous intent in front of the district attorney. Also don’t kill Frank Castle. Or anyone.”

“ _No one touches you_ ,” Matt hisses, hackles up like a cat. “I don’t care who they are, I don’t care how many people I have to break. Not _you_. Not ever again.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got friends in high places,” Foggy says, trying for a joke, but Matt still looks like he’s about to break into Riker’s _this instant_. Foggy tugs on his arm, and Matt reluctantly subsides back onto the couch, still looking like a frayed cable about to snap. “Matt. This is...sweet, I think, but you _cannot kill for me_. You can’t even _maim_ for me. I forbid it.”

“You… _forbid_ me?” Matt repeats incredulously, blue eyes staring blankly past Foggy’s left ear.

“Yes,” Foggy says. “Do you want to test me on this?”

Matt doesn’t answer, just sits there, his jaw working furiously. Foggy takes pity on him, a little, and reaches out to cup his jaw, drawing him in. “Oh, Matt. I really am okay,” he murmurs. “I will continue to be okay. I promise.” He smiles a little as Matt gives a little, tipping his forehead against Foggy’s. “I mean, do you think I don’t worry about _you?_ I love you too, you know.”

It’s a mistake. It’s true, but it’s a mistake. Foggy knows it the minute he feels the words in his mouth, too big to fit; he knows it when he feels Matt go absolutely still, then pull away.

“I have to go to work,” Matt says. “You should rest. I have to go to work.”

“Matt…” Foggy says, like he has any idea what he’s going to follow Matt’s name with, but Matt’s already standing.

“No,” Matt says. “You’re right. You’re right, you’re fine, so. I have to.” He pauses like he’s thinking of something else to say, then straightens his tie and heads for the door, picking up his cane on the way.

“Matt,” Foggy says again.

“You’re okay,” Matt says, and shoots Foggy a ghost of a smile. “That’s what’s important.”

He walks out, then, and Foggy knows what he really meant was _goodbye_.

*

Three weeks pass.

Matt doesn’t come back to Foggy’s door. He doesn’t climb in Foggy’s bedroom window. He doesn’t even show up at the courthouse; one of his lackeys handles the next case he has scheduled.

Daredevil drops out of sight, too. No more sightings; no more criminals turning up beaten to a pulp at the precinct door. Nothing.

Foggy doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t actually have any way of contacting Matt besides calling his office - which he does, in shameful desperation towards the end of the second week, hiding in the men’s room and giving Matt’s secretary a fake name. All she’ll say is that Mr. Murdock is out, and she doesn’t know when he’s expected back.

He doesn’t have Matt’s cell phone, or home line. He doesn’t even know where Matt _lives_ , though he could look it up...but that’s crossing a line, and would only make Matt run further and faster anyway.

Because Matt _is_ running. Foggy knows that for sure.

He doesn’t blame Matt. Foggy can’t believe he was so stupid, can’t believe he let something so damning slip out. He can barely get Matt to stay until sunrise on a _good_ night - what did he think would happen after a declaration like that? That Matt would proclaim his undying love before God and all mankind? They can’t tell _anyone_. Foggy could probably get impeached for what he’s done here. Hell, maybe he should be.

That doesn’t make what he said any less true.

Foggy doesn’t even know if Matt’s still in the city, or the _country_. He knows that Matt’s spent time in Japan, from passing comments Matt’s made - maybe he’s gone back there. Foggy didn’t think he had the power to scare Matt that badly, but six months ago he didn’t think Matt Murdock cared about any human being on the planet besides himself, so what does he know?

It makes no difference. What they were - _whatever_ they were - is clearly over. Time for Foggy to move on.

But okay. Maybe he’s entitled to grieve a little first.

*

Foggy doesn’t hear the tap on his window right away.

He’s not asleep. He hasn’t slept well in weeks. It’s raining - pouring, really - and the drum of the rain on the fire escape, on the metal of his air conditioner, is enough to drown it out until he realizes that under the sound of the rain is something steadier. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

He doesn’t let himself hope. But he stands up, goes to the window, and pushes back the curtain.

And there’s Matt, in the black, huddled in on himself like a hungry stray.

Foggy pushes up the window that he never locks, wondering why Matt didn’t do it himself. Was it because he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome, or…?

He licks his lips. “Hey,” he says. “Come on in.”

Matt tries, and falls heavily to the floor as he trips coming in, and Foggy sees the blood and understands why Matt couldn’t open the window himself.

“Matt!” he says, dropping to his knees and tugging the mask off. “Shit, Matt, Matt, who did this to you, what _happened?_ ”

“Foggy,” Matt says, reaching for Foggy’s face. He’s soaked to the bone, pale and shivering, and bleeding from what looks like multiple stab wounds, circles like dark bruises under his eyes. “Foggy, Foggy, I missed you.”

Foggy pushes his heart out of his throat and back where it belongs. He doesn’t have time for this now. “Okay. You’re gonna be okay, Matt, just hang on. I’ll be right back.”

First aid kit. He needs the first aid kit and the scissors and towels and dry clothes and, and...what is he _doing?_ He doesn’t know how to administer first aid, not beyond the obvious. But if he calls 911, Matt’ll most likely end up in jail. He doesn’t know what Matt was doing tonight, but the black means he was doing it for Fisk. If he calls 911, he may be giving up Matt’s freedom - and his own career.

If he doesn’t, Matt might die.

As Foggy stumbles back into the bedroom, arms full of his hastily-gathered supplies, he tells himself that if he can’t stop the bleeding on his own, he’ll call 911, no matter what Matt says. He’ll find a way to live with the consequences.

He drops to his knees besides Matt. “I’m gonna cut this off you,” he says, plucking at Matt’s shirt.

Matt musters up a faint smile. “Fresh.”

“ _Matt_.” No. Foggy cannot afford to cry right now. He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he cuts Matt’s shirt away. There’s three deep gashes on his torso, another couple on his arms, one high on his cheekbone. “Do you know if these need stitches? Can you tell?”

“I don’t...I can’t…” Matt shifts, like he’s trying to get up, and Foggy puts his hands on Matt’s shoulders, holding him down gently but firmly.

“Okay. Don’t move. Just...just don’t move,” he says. He presses the towel to what looks like the two deepest cuts, applying pressure to a different wound with each hand, and winces as Matt gasps in pain.

“I couldn’t do it,” Matt says, staring sightlessly past Foggy’s head. “I couldn’t do it this time, Foggy.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” Foggy says, trying to sound soothing and not scared out of his goddamn mind. Matt nods faintly and closes his eyes. “No! Matt, no, I need you to stay awake, okay? Stay with me.” He has no idea if Matt has a head injury or not, but he’s terrified that if he lets Matt close his eyes, he’ll never open them again.

“I can’t,” Matt says, and he looks mildly perturbed now but at least his eyes are open. “That’s...that’s the whole point.”

“Shhh, yes you can,” Foggy insists.

Matt shakes his head. “You don’t...understand anything,” he says, and smiles faintly. “Franklin Nelson. What a...a silly little man.”

“That’s me,” Foggy says. Matt can talk nonsense as long as he stays awake.

“That was why...at first,” Matt goes on. “You were so...so _ridiculous_. You thought you _mattered_. That any of it mattered. It’s why you were...so fun to rile up.”

Foggy nods and checks under the towel and ignores what Matt’s saying. It looks like the bleeding’s slowing. That’s all he can manage to care about right now. Matt needs him too much for him to let Matt’s words hurt him.

“It was supposed to be _funny_ ,” Matt says, but the smile’s dropped off his face. “What did you do to me, Foggy?”

Foggy swallows past the lump in his throat and leans in to kiss Matt on the forehead, even though he’s not sure if he’s allowed anymore. “Just stay with me,” he says again. He doesn’t know what else to say.

He loses track of time after that. Matt’s quiet but awake, eyes darting at unseen shadows. To Foggy’s immense relief, he’s able to get the bleeding under control; he bandages Matt as best he can with his limited first aid supplies, dries him off, bundles him into some warm, dry sweats, and puts him to bed. He makes him down a glass of juice before he turns off the light, remembering that they always make Foggy drink juice after he gives blood at City Hall’s annual blood drive.

“Wake me up if you...uh, start to feel yourself dying,” he says as he shuts the light and climbs in next to Matt.

Matt makes a noncommittal noise that Foggy optimistically interprets as agreement. He pauses, then curls up to Matt and rests a light hand over his chest. He wants to be sure it’s still rising and falling like it should - and fuck it, he’s had a stressful evening and if he needs a little cuddling, well, the only person here to judge him is barely conscious.

“Night, Matt,” he says, and closes his eyes.

*

He doesn’t exactly sleep soundly after a night like that, which is why he wakes up when Matt tries to slip out from under his arm. Of course, the fact that Matt can’t move without groaning helps.

“Whuzzah...Matt?” Foggy asks, blinking against the thin light of early morning. “Oh, no you don’t. Lie back down.”

Matt, halfway to sitting up, scowls at him but obliges.

Foggy squints at him. It’s not really light out after all - it’s barely dawn, and everything is still gray and indistinct. Matt looks faded and somewhat lost. His eyes are sunken and hollow, and there’s a bruise spreading over his cheek, livid against his pale skin.

“What happened last night?” Foggy asks.

Matt doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then he closes his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Foggy drapes his arm back over Matt’s ribcage and waits.

He’s nearly asleep again when Matt says, very soft, “Fisk asked me to remove one of his distributors.”

It’s the first time he’s ever spoken explicitly about what it is he does for Fisk outside of the courtroom. Foggy makes a low, encouraging sound.

“He’d been cooking his books, trying to hold back part of Fisk’s share. I could have just threatened him, but he’s been trying to weasel around Fisk for years. Killing him would serve as a warning to other members of the organization: Fisk always knows, and he never forgives.”

Matt pauses again. “I’ve...I’ve removed a lot of people.”

He says it like he expects Foggy to be shocked, like Foggy will leap out of the bed in horror. He’s still underestimating Foggy.

“I know,” Foggy says. “Go on.”

“It was easy,” Matt says. “It was always...it was _easy_. Even when it was someone who knew how to fight, they were never a match for me. I knew this target carried knives on him, but he still wasn’t a match for me.” For once, he says it without ego. “But I had him, I had his neck ready snap, and I...it didn’t...my hands wouldn’t _do_ it.”

Foggy kisses his shoulder, silent.

“He wasn’t a good man,” Matt says, a hint of his normal sneer back on his face. “He wasn’t an innocent victim. This wasn’t an act of heroism. I just…” His chest hitches beneath Foggy’s arm. “My hands wouldn’t do it.”

“Come work for me,” Foggy says for the third time. “Come work in the DA’s office. Turn over enough evidence and I can get you a deal without jail time.” It’s probably not the ethical thing to do. He’s not even sure he can offer it. He doesn’t care anymore. “You’d have to give us a lot, but - ”

“He’ll kill me,” Matt says, staring straight ahead. Foggy knows Matt doesn’t need to look at him to be paying attention, but he’s not sure Matt even heard him this time. “I failed him. He’ll kill me.”

“No, he won’t. I won’t _let_ him,” Foggy says fiercely, pushing himself up on one arm to look Matt in the face properly. “You’re not his anymore. You’re _mine_.”

He’s staring intently at Matt, which is the only reason he sees the fine tremble in Matt’s jaw before Matt rolls into Foggy and tucks his face against Foggy’s chest. Foggy smooths a hand down Matt’s back, soothing, not expecting an answer. Matt’s here, and safe, and Foggy can feel Matt’s breath against his collarbone. He can wait forever like this.

But…

“All right,” Matt says, so soft Foggy nearly misses it. “Let’s try.”

Foggy swallows hard past the lump in his throat, and kisses the top of Matt’s head. “Deal,” he says, and settles back against his pillow, Matt still curled close. He keeps his eyes open, though, watching the way the sunrise through his curtains makes the shadows shift and fade. It’s getting lighter by the minute.

**Author's Note:**

> In Spider-Gwen canon, Matt is the real Kingpin now that Fisk's in jail, but since originally it was implied that Fisk is still running the show, I went with that for the first story and stuck with it for this one. It was also recently revealed that Matt attended Empire State University but I had him at Columbia with Foggy in TLaTW, so. I worked in what additional canon didn't contradict my established fanon, like Matt's years in Japan. This is probably only interesting to me.
> 
> Anyway I assume that unlike 616's "I'm Not Daredevil" shirt and the Gwenverse's "I'm Not the Kingpin" shirt, this Matt has one that says "I'm Not Fucking the DA" and Foggy's real mad about it.


End file.
